Her vulnerability was excruciating. I couldn’t bear someone being that needy. It made me want to claw my own skin off. Imagine admitting to anyone that you were lonely. Wouldn’t you just die?

“I really don’t have that problem,” I said.

“If you say so,” Beth replied, and I thought I saw a flash of something in her eye. I couldn’t tell if it was sadness for herself or pity for me. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Given that a shriek of frustration would have been a regression too far, I satisfied myself with storming off in the opposite direction, grinding my teeth. Where did she get off being so fucking understanding all the time?

16.

When I was little, Mum would take me to the museum. I hated it. She’d stand staring at the paintings for ages and I’d get bored. I didn’t know why it took her so long to move on. So I’d tug on her hand and drag her along. The only bit I liked was the gift shop with the colorful toys and books.

Now I took her at least once a month and I stood there as long as she wanted. It was practically empty early in the morning so it was one of the few places we could go where I didn’t feel like everyone was looking, wondering what was wrong with her.

When I’d picked her up that morning, Mum’s key worker, Nora, mentioned she’d taken a shine to some young girl who worked there on the night shift and they had watched a video of a concert online. I gave her a stony glare and she scurried off. Some girl making my mum sit through a grainy phone video of whomever was currently top of the charts was not cute to me. Mum was a wonderful, glorious snob who may have smiled indulgently when Dad wanted to rhapsodize about an obscure band, but always found somewhere else to be when he played his music through the sound system.